


Beryllium (or Riding High on Love's True Blueish Light)

by hegemony



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Mind Meld, Minor Character Death, Mirror Universe, Multi, Polyamory, Romance, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-23
Updated: 2011-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hegemony/pseuds/hegemony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not an ego boost. It's more of a sign that he's not alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beryllium (or Riding High on Love's True Blueish Light)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mirror My Malady, Transfer My Tragedy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/215167) by [hegemony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hegemony/pseuds/hegemony). 



> Written for LJ user 'old-blueeyes' Second annual Sulu-off, under meraque's prompt: Kirk/Sulu or Uhura/Sulu: they're ostensibly friends with benefits, but Sulu has fallen in love for real.
> 
> a Loose sequel to 'Mirror My Malady, Transfer My Tragedy'.

"I really don't mean to offend you, Mister Sulu. Emotions still do not come easy to me, and I wish to understand the situation, no matter how complicated it may seem. May I?"

Hikaru's brows furrow, but he nods as he wipes the sweat from his face. He throws the practice epee aside and sighs. He knew this day would come.

"Sure, sure. Meld away, I guess. Just, y'know, be gentle with me?"

"I assure you the process isn't physically painful, Hikaru."

That's not really what he meant.

 

 

 

When Hikaru comes out of the bathroom, Nyota's sitting on the side of the bed, brushing her hair. Even, delicate strokes in an even, delicate rhythm. She's not naked.

She's wearing an old Terran sweatshirt and it hangs from one of her shoulders, softened by years of sonic washing and three sizes too big for her.

It's easy to stare, her back turned away as she slowly worked. It was an impression of Nyota that has stayed in his memory ever since, through the tragedy and beauty they have endured, through the times he has embarrassed himself fawning over her, through everything. Sometimes, Hikaru gets reminded that both of them are astromical nerds, only barely learning how to speak in each other's tongue. Most days, there's progress, but there's also the crippling nightmare that he's fucking everything up. She tries her best to put his anxiety at ease, most days. Most days, he'd settle for her body heat emanating next to his.

She ruins her work with a succinct twist and roll, long tendrils piled atop her head in a big knot. He slides over then, moulding himself to her back, the naked skin of his chest against her shirt, his hands on her thighs.

She sighs, softly, and relaxes into his touch.

 

 

 

It's been a hard, long day on the bridge. Times like these, when they lose men for careless and babyish mistakes, Jim shuts down like he feels every death. Hikaru wishes he knew the antidote to that glum feeling Jim always seems to get, but he doesn't and sometimes that hurts even more than watching a friend's life slip through his fingertips.

Jim's kneeling by the window in his quarters. Hikaru doesn't really want to disturb him, how peaceful he looks, but they both can see Hikaru's reflection in the window. Jim's breath has already hitched, his hands have already tightened on his thighs, the line of his back has stiffened. This...isn't want Hikaru wants.

He casually walks over, the tension in the room gossamer thin, and sits, silently, next to Jim, turned against the window. He sheds his shirt, gently, taking the time to fold it instead of ball it up and throw it away. Jim's looking at him from the corner of his eye, expecting anything to give him a hint as to how Hikaru will take him tonight, but he smiles.

"Give me this hand," he asks, softly, reaching for Jim's left. Jim gives it willingly, and Hikaru senses he's already sinking into his head, that silent little part of Kirk that's silent and willing to endure. Hikaru slides the hand around the musculature of his chest. He settles it atop his heart, leaving it there to caress Jim's chin, yank him forehead to forehead.

It's not quite an embrace, but it's the closest they've gotten in a while.

 

 

 

There's a room full of physical Starfleet archival records on the Enterprise. It is often empty. That's why he thinks its her favorite hiding place.

Sometimes, he finds Uhura there, tucked away. There's always something on the music player when she's alone. It's been shaped precariously like an old gramophone, one of the reasons why she likes it so much. It's playing something raw, Thelonius Monk. She's under one of the study lamps, writing down something in a notepad, locks of hair she'd meticulously curled framing around her face. On the desk she's working at across the way, there's a few slices of something that looks like an apple, something that looks like carrot, and something that looks like matterhorn. She's barely touched it.

He sets down the bottle of wine softly. She's completely engrossed in her work. He peers over her shoulder to see she's reading of Orion, as if she's trying to find something in particular.

"Need a break?" he asks, softly. During a skipped breath, melodic alongside jivy melancholy.

Her head pops up, curls springing to life. She smiles, an imperfectly perfect show of teeth and stretch of lips, and her eyes are rimmed red, like she's been curled somewhere, crying. Her voice sounds raw when she uses it. "Hey."

"Was wondering where you went to," he remarked. "Weren't we going to have a picnic in the flight simulator?"

"I...I'm sorry, I totally forgot we were doing that tonight," she groans, fumbling at the hem of her uniform skirt. "It's just..."

He doesn't order her to come to him, simply opens his arms and watches as she gets up, walking over and wrapping herself around him. His arms close, and they sway in time. He feels a pang of intimate guilt, but she rests her head on his shoulder, and he can't bother to think about it again.

"You missing her, too?" He asks.

She's silent for a long, long time. He lets her. Gaila's a subject they bring up sparingly, her memory a cypher for their codes. Tendrils of her are in everything they are, but it's always painful to say her name aloud: she stands for too much more than just a beautiful woman taken too soon.

Hikaru wishes he had the time, patience, or room for fancy footwork, here. Maybe some of that would let Nyota know he's here for him. He doesn't, so they sway until the computer's run out of all of Nyota's favorite jazz greats.

"I guess I should be happy I'm not alone in this, huh?"

"Trust me," Hikaru smiles, and holds her even tighter. "You're not alone in anything."

 

 

 

In the beginning, it felt like kissing Jim was like kissing someone who's absolutely sure that sex is mechanical, especially when he's drunk.

"Slow down," Hikaru said, bluntly.

Jim's eyes went a bit soft at that. Hikaru thought it's because he'd been blitzed, but then again Hikaru's blitzed too and there really just needed to be more kissing right now, but it's like Jim's waiting for permission and...that doesn't actually seem right come to think of it.

"Do you want to keep..." He started.

Jim's head popped up, nodding furiously. He snatched onto Hikaru's neck, standing beside him and kissing deep, stillwater deep. It made Hikaru dizzy, a tendril of tightness as his erection rubbed against Jim's.

"Fuck," Jim groaned.

"What's wrong?" Hikaru asked.

"I'm just always more in control than I am right now," Jim blurted.

Hikaru's eyes widened at the implication of that. "Captain?"

"No, no don't do that. That's not what I mean," Jim said. "Fuck my _life_."

"With all due respect, _sir_ , I think maybe we should trade, then," Hikaru smirked simply. "It's okay. I'm secure enough to be on botto--."

Jim's eyes were piercing blue and murderous, and Christ they must be really, really drunk for this to be happening like this, 'Ladies' Man' Kirk a stumbling, bumbling idiot who looks like he's overwhelmed at the very prospect of man-parts next to his own.

"That's a perfect idea!" Jim interrupted. "You be on top! I'll be your first mate! You can punish me, I'll probably like it. Mostly. Likely. Something. Come on, Sulu, spank me like the bad pilot I am!"

"You're really, really drunk," Hikaru laughed. "I'm not spanking a higher officer, _sir_."

Jim looked a bit perplexed at that idea, brows furrowing like he's thinking hard on the edge of Hikaru's bed.

"But, I'm supposed to call you sir when we play this game, right _Sir_?"

"I don't think it's a good idea for us to..."

Jim passed out at that point, spread like a crime scene against Hikaru's sheets. Hikaru sighed, at least Kirk didn't get his pants down before passing out.

And if Hikaru acted a little more gentle toward Jim-- making sure he's warm and able to breathe and coaxing him up enough to make sure he's got some water in his system so he won't die-- that's a secret between him and the Sulu-shaped guy he is in the bathroom mirror.

 

 

 

Watching Nyota with Spock used to be a foreign feeling that often incited flares of jealousy no matter how hard Sulu tried. But somehow, he's begun to find it a bit endearing.

When she's with Spock, she's barely even reminiscent of the person she is with him. She always speaks in the hushed, smoothed tones of Vulcan, face schooled into a demeanor he used to think was stoicism. Now, he can see how they speak in small dances between them, the trace of a finger, the furrow or elegant arch of a brow.

His heart swells, thinking of how she treats Spock. She'd looked like she'd had all sorts of secrets behind her eyes once she'd told him everything, but now he realizes those secrets are how she exists with space for Spock alongside the history she has with Hikaru. Spock's never been competition, they do things too differently to even be considered in each other's running, really.

It's not an ego boost. It's more of a sign that he's not alone. If he's honest with himself, it's almost comforting.

Spock looks at him differently, after learning of Portland and the relationship Hikaru has with Nyota. He is gentlemanly, but almost scrutinizing in ways Hikaru's never particularly enjoyed. Hikaru's got a tendency to attempt playing it off with a quick joke appealing to Spock's sense of wit, but sometimes it feels a bit like a truce instead of a blithe coexistence.

Lesser men would define their relationship with a partner's...er... partner as one mutually exclusive to growling and hair pulling with the occasional fistfight. While Spock and he have gotten into a couple of those, they've often been on the same side.

More often than naught, Uhura's right there bashing in heads with them, badass that she is.

 

 

 

The first time Uhura and Kirk kiss, it's forced. Hikaru bares his teeth as he watches it, how helpless he is to stop it as the two people he cares about out here most are made into puppets for some fucked-up alien's passion play. He wants to rage, knock down every wall there could be and stop at nothing until the rivers flow whatever color these aliens bleed.

And he feels so helpless to do anything but sob.

Things are fucked up and messy for a while. They're always a bit fucked up and messy, but this kind of mess takes time to heal. Jim has no will to give anything to Hikaru but a pair of guilty eyes, and Nyota spends less time with both him and Spock, choosing to spend more time in the Archives, in her bedroom, in the barracks with the communication runts. She never was his, but she certainly doesn't even feel like she's anyone's anymore, and if there's one thing he's scared of, it's letting her slip through his fingers again. Not after Vulcan, not after San Francisco.

He's down in engineering giving a hand to Scotty for a second when he hears something bounce off the walls. It sounds...

Well, It kinda sounds like Blondie.

"You know, you look really stupid doing that," Nyota's voice beckons, grinning softly.

"Shut up and dance with me, Uhura," Kirk orders in the campiest voice he can muster, and then tucks his hands behind his head and thrusts to the baseline. "You know you want some of this."

She giggles, but is a good sport and does end up dancing once he stops thrusting at her. Hikaru's been here before, another one of Nyota's hidey-holes they often would find themselves having sex in. This particular little nook that can pass for a makeshift studio, squishy polymers instead of hard nano-concrete. They're both close enough to feel each other's body heat, dancing in a way appropriate for the time period, strutting and thrusting and bumping without the oft-requisite grind. Nyota's wearing a unitard, a beloved Terran print stretched skintight as it descends straight down her back into Starfleet issue workout shorts. Kirk's still in his uniform, and it just makes him look even sillier as he tries to do the Hustle.

Hikaru aches for a place for himself to fit, in this goofy rendition, but understands- no, _owes_ them this private moment, the ecstatic glee involved in Kirk's hands on Nyota's waist, the two of them spinning around in their own little world.

They're like children, and Hikaru can't help but recede into the shadows, even if he hums 'heart of glass' for the rest of the day.

 

 

 

"We haven't," She says, frowning slightly.

"Would you want to?" Hikaru asks. They're kneeling together, cutesy checkered blanket and replicated food, the bottle of wine that they never opened that night in the archives. She picks up her glass again and stares down at the murky liquid.

"I've thought about it, I'll admit, but then I think about that day, y'know? Is it okay not to be sure?" she asks.

"Of course it is," he tells her, "Thing about Jim is that he doesn't particularly like when you take it easy on him. I don't think anybody on this ship really likes it when you take it easy on them."

She turns and kisses him then, ends up spilling the wine all over his white t-shirt but it doesn't matter when she's ripping it off in the promise of finding the water and the soap needed to hand wash it later and fucking him right now. She rides him slow in the heat of the botany lab, slow enough to make him burn, so enough to make it hurt. It's reconnection: his hands round her shoulders in her dress, yanking her down. He kisses her hard, their bodies tangling together even through the few clothes they're wearing.

She's warm, and alive, and real again in his arms. She's staring down at him as they move. She comes with her mouth open in a quiet cry of pleasure, a torrential clench against him. After, she apologizes to him in every language she even remotely knows, two fingers stroking against the palm of his hand, collapsing into two fists intertwined. Hikaru feels full with emotion.

 

 

 

He catches Nyota making out with Kirk. She's wriggling, growling, a passionate spitfire of a kiss.

He exhales, didn't think it would be as hot as it is to watch the two of them actually _want_ this.

They're both out of uniform, her hair pinstraight and down in a way Hikaru hasn't seen in years, and her eyes are rimmed dark with kohl. Kirk's also looking different, wearing a wrap of leather and a green top that doesn't quite hide his muscles underneath. They're in the middle of a Very Private Conversation, and when she turns her head and sees him there she walks toward Hikaru and throws him aside.

"Hey, gorgeous," he grins.

"Peon," she snarls.

"Am I...missing something?" Hikaru asks, brows furrowing.

"Shouldn't you be torturing someone, Sulu? Idle hands and all," Kirk smirks, walking in the other direction.

It's not rejection, not really. He's too confused to feel rejected.

And if it turns out that these are dopplegangers, evil twins on a special mission to penetrate the Enterprise, well...

It's Starfleet. Shit happens.

 

 

 

Sometimes Jim does things that don't actually make sense. Like today, when he ordered a ship-wide costume party three days after the plot to take over the ship and trap it or something is discovered and then fails.

"Why do we need a rager after something as deranged as that, again?" Hikaru asks.

"For morale! Come on," Jim grins, shoving him playfully, "it was great! They were murderous and insane and made us all go batshit for a few days, and I know Mckenna got stabbed a couple times, but I kicked mine square in the ass. Even better, the idiot looked hot while he was taking that beating! I had to stop myself from taking him back to my quarters and tussling without the clothes."

Hikaru's evil twin decidedly did not look hot: he had a mustache, a half-bowl cut and a scar over his eye. The guy didn't seem to be particularly menacing until he pulled out his sword in one hand and a taser in the other. After that, it had been a rumble Hikaru barely won, and truthfully only because he ended up making out with himself long enough to stab him in the gut. He didn't know whether to be disturbed or slightly turned on that his other half had died on his mouth, on his sword. Ironic, that one: the man--another _him_ \- died because all he wanted was a little affection.

Nyota's doppelganger was pretty hot, though. And if Nyota shows up to this party looking even better than that, hair down her shoulders, wearing shreds of black silk that somehow fashioned into a top and modest britches, Hikaru can't really feel guilty for his pulse racing.

He promises himself he's taking her 'home' tonight.

"Fuck," Jim says, looking down at his own 'evil twin' costume and frowns. He turns to Hikaru, who's dressed a bit less like the version of himself he killed and a bit more like a Sanctuary City hitman, "You sure we got them all, right?"

"Yes, Jim. Put your tongue back in your mouth, please. That's my--"

"Your what? Girl-shaped-partner-friend?" there's a bit of an interpretive dance there, and Hikaru has to bite his lip to make sure he doesn't laugh flat out. "Hate to tell you but your fuck buddy's really clarifying dictionary definition of that phrase tonight."

"I'd like to think we're beyond 'fuck buddies', actually. Somewhere in the range of 'sexual associates', I suppose," Hikaru pauses, then raises his beer bottle and tips it in Kirk's direction with a hint of well-meaning menace. "I know what you're about to say, shut up. That shit's not clever."

"Oh-kay," Jim sighs disappointedly, and goes back to leering. Nyota's always been devilish in details for these kinds of parties, known to conjure the magic of thrift stores and replicators and a needle and thread if she must. A swell of memory washes over Hikaru, he remembers a time when Gaila had that knack, too, both of them holding every eye in the building. He'd hitched his wagon to that star, once, as it shot across the sky.

As she oozes through the crowd, she locks eyes with him, walking over. She gracefully picks up a glass of wine along the way, breaking character with a smile as Hikaru undresses with her eyes. As she comes closer, he can see her upper arms painted in tight little black bars made to look like tattoos, 15 on one side, two on the other. Her pants have holsters, ornate handles of what look like daggers. His fingers itch to touch them like they never have before.

"Spock sends his well-wishes," she says once she's in earshot, two fingers swiped across Hikaru's jaw in a seductive greeting, "but I'm afraid he wasn't in the mood to participate. The last few days have been hard for him."

"Didn't he end up..." Jim asks, making the now-shipwide flailing sign for 'mind meld'. This place and its memes-- everybody's still making up rumors about him being the second coming of Chuck Norris.

"Against his will, yes," she says, quietly. "He earned a lot about how they were. I believe he's trying to document as much of it as he can, and process as much as he needs to. They treated Vulcans poorly, and seeing someone that looks like you enslaved is no easy task."

"How are you holding up?" Jim asks, all business. "I've never seen you fight like that, Lieutennant."

"Well, It's not good to advertise you know Syndicate mixed martial arts until you need to, I suppose," she says. Hikaru grins, knows she's lying. She learned it from Gaila, grappling in a private room. She'd tried to teach it to Hikaru, too, but he'd never gotten past the giggles of Gaila flying toward him crotch first, fingers pinned and a ferocious look on her face.

Hikaru's fingers softly press against the smooth skin of Nyota's stomach. He grasps the handle of one of the daggers at her side, gasping when he realizes they're weighty and real.

"Easy, sailor," she warns him, voice filled with beckoning seduction and the promise of more. "You'll have your chance later."

Jim looks like he's about to swallow his tongue. "Can I come?"

"Depends on what Hikaru says, isn't that how it works?" she says, surely. Her smoky makeup cakes as she closes her eyes in a private joke, heady with wine and entendre. Jim pales at the implication, but Hikaru knows it's a passing thing. Jim's got nothing to be embarrassed about.

"Sulu, you mind if I escort you and Lieutenant Uhura back to your quarters?"

They're both looking at him now, all searing eyes and mouths agape, like they're inches away from kissing each other for his benefit. A sharp thrill decends down Hikaru's spine, and he squeaks out, "yes?"

"That a question, sweetheart?" Nyota asks. Hikaru then remembers he's about to swallow his tongue and stop breathing if they stare at him any longer. He swipes the glass of wine from her hand, downs it all, like he needs to get the butterflies in the pit of his stomach drunk.

"He's such a smooth operator, isn't he?" Kirk adds, his mouth snapping shut afterward. Hikaru's eyes narrow, the kind of strict disciplinarian _'that's earned you a demerit, Jim'_ look he hasn't put on in a while.

They both look a little turned on after that.

 

 

 

Yes, they have a threesome.

You saw that coming, right? Hikaru did.

 

 

 

His hand shakes as he weighs the dagger.

"This is real?" he asks incredulously.

"It's hers. The other me," Nyota shrugs. "She didn't need them anymore."

She lifts a piece of Verudian Theta roll, slipping it into her mouth gently. He can smell the spice of it, not quite right thanks to the replicator but still deliciously sweet. She wipes her fingers on her napkin and raises the other one, marbled ivory handle, trident shaped blade with the middle prong about three times as long as the other two, meant to maim and torture just as easily as it kills.

"Did you ask her?" Hikaru asks.

"No," she shakes her head. "I didn't need to. She gave them to me."

"That's kinda badass," he remarks. "Wanna learn how to use 'em?"

"Maybe. If you'll take a bath with me. A real bath."

"Deal."

 

 

 

A few days later, Jim's kneeling for the first time in months. His hands are strung behind his back, his mouth wet and open, his face nuzzling against Hikaru's crotch, like he's begging.

"Not yet, Jim," he says, leaning Jim's chin upward and brushing his mouth atop Kirk's. The moment stretches out between the two of them, before Hikaru gets up from the bed and comes to sit behind Jim, lumping his whole body across jim's back. He's locking his hips against the backs of Kirk's, watching him spread his legs, his head hanging down.

"I love how you give this to me," Hikaru whispers, a smile gracing his lips. He can feel Jim tense up, his toes curling and his body arching in. "You just open up and do it, like there isn't an ounce of self preservation in you. I love you."

"Permission to speak, sir?"

"Go ahead, Jim."

"Do you mean that?"

"What?"

"That you love me," Jim says, his voice almost raw.

Hikaru's brows furrow. "Why would I say it if I didn't mean it? When have I ever told you something and not meant it before?"

Jim's lips turn up in a smile, and he sounds genuinely surprised. "Thank you, sir."

"It's Hikaru, Jim," he whispers.

"Well then thank you, Hikaru," Kirk nods, pushes backward to match his weight. "I think I love you, too."

"You think?" he teases, curling his arms around Jim's waist, tightening in what most people would call a hug.

"I've never really loved anybody but my mom before. Don't push it. Besides, does your girl-shaped-friend-thingy know about how much you love me?" Kirk teases.

Hikaru rests his head on Kirk's shoulder and groans. "Yes, Jim. My girlfriend knows I love you. And she's happy about it, mostly. Nyota would have stabbed me by now if she wasn't."

Jim laughs at that, and suddenly all of the seriousness of the moment is gone, playful as Jim pushes him over on the floor and gets on top of him, grinning like the bashful idiot he is.

 

 

 

There's only one place in the whole ship that has real water baths: engineering. They amble down there, walking shoulder to shoulder. The room Scotty built out of extra piping and some replicated wood is thankfully empty, and the water is almost hot enough to scald. Still, she sinks in, and moves aside to make space for him, so she can sit in his lap.

"I wish I would have seen who you were, Hikaru," She says, softly. He knows what she means.

"He would have scared you," he says, "he scared the crap outta me. He wasn't angry, just...beaten down, I think."

"Nobody should hate themselves when they have a face like yours," she jokes. Her hair grows pliable in the steam, losing its pinstraight texture as she lays on his shoulder. He slides his lips along the jut of her chin, his hands finding a comfortable place for themselves at her hips.

They fall into silence.

"Spock says he doesn't think anybody treated anyone else well, there. I can't figure out why, I've thought about it so hard I don't even want to anymore...I just don't want to be like her. No, not really."

"Nyota," he starts.

"She gave me those daggers before she killed hers--"

"I love you," he says, a hot whisper and tears and his hands closing around her waist. "Nyota, I love you so, so much."

She turns around, as if to look at him curiously. Without thinking, he carefully piles as much of her damp hair atop her head as he can, busy work. "How much of that was your thinking it was the right time to say that, and how much of that was you thinking you needed to make sure I didn't finish that sentence?"

He takes a moment to think, "Fourty-sixty."

She comes closer, smile playing on her lips. She breathes in his air, looking down at his lips in the red emergent glow. "I think it was more like twenty five- seventy five."

"Maybe," he says hotly, the tease of a kiss so close.

"It's okay," she confides. "I love you too."

He's laughing like an idiot when they finally meet in the middle.

 

 

 

Spock's hand falls from Hikaru's face, and Hikaru's head drops onto Spock's shoulder as he finds himself gasping for air.

"Do you require assistance?"

It takes a few seconds of squinting and deep breathing, but, "No, Spock. No. Do get it, now?"

"I believe so. You hold affection and attachment to both of them, even though you provide them with different things. They have both seen a disproportionate amount of action for the last few months, but you have not given undue judgment to either of them. It is an admirable act, to help give air to such burdens. Human psychology often holds little tolerance for trauma and even less for empathy."

"I wouldn't go that far. Look, we're in Starfleet. Shit happens."

"Indeed," Spock says. Hikaru thinks he hears a wistful sigh, but rings it up to general post-meld grog. "She is complicated, sometimes."

"Love is complicated, sometimes. That's what makes it love. Did you find what you were looking for?"

Spock pauses, both looks at him, and nods. "Yes. Your perspective was enlightening, and strengthened my landscape of evidence. Nyota is fortunate to have someone like you."

"She's lucky to have someone like you, too, Spock," he shrugs. It's true, but it also feels like the right thing to say, for fear of starting a Shakespearian fistfight. "Would you like to learn some drills you can run with Nyota while she's using the daggers?"

"I believe your experience with weapons training is far more advanced than mine. You've been an excellent teacher and sparring partner to me, I believe she deserves the same," Spock says. "I would prefer if you fought with me again, actually, as I am in the midst of developing a new strategy. Do you have time? Are you able?"

Hikaru grins. He's back on solid, enjoyable ground. He picks up the epees, turns one over at the handle, and presents it to Spock. "Of course I do, Spock. Of course I do."

"I also have one last question, Hikaru."

"Sure," Sulu says as he drinks from his bottle of water and attempts to bend over to loosen himself up again. "Name it."

"Rumor has it that you only believe in the element of surprise. I did not go far back enough to fathom how you made it through Starfleet's entrance exams with adamant disbelief in the periodic table."

Hikaru bites the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. He'll have to let Nyota and Jim know their little ship-wide attempt to make him into the Enterprise's resident badass seems to have worked. "No, Spock. I enjoy the company of other elements too."

Spock looks as though he had been making a joke, pursing his lips in a smirk. "Well then, Mister Sulu, I am relieved."


End file.
